31 Days of {Im}perfection

Day 2

Day 2:  Write a scene involving a simple item that triggers a memory.

"Melissa!"I heard my mom yell from the kitchen.

I groaned and slammed my laptop closed, lifting myself up and hopping off the bed,"Coming!"

I trudged down the carpeted steps to find my mom sat on a stool at the breakfast bar. She didn't even acknowledge that I had entered the room, in stead choosing to continue flipping through the Better Homes & Gardens magazine.

"What?"I finally asked, impatience taking over.

She turned in surprise to find me standing beside her with my hands on my hips,"Oh! You came down!"

"Yes. I did. Like five minutes ago. Now, can you please tell me what your reason is for disrupting my web surfing?"I huffed.

She sighed,"Your uncle wants some of your father's things, which we have stored in the basement. I need you to gather it all and bring it up so that he can look through it and choose some things."

I rolled my eyes, of course my uncle wold wait three months after the funeral to ask for stuff,"Fine. Is that all?"

She nodded and turned her head back to the magazine. Why she couldn't get off of her lazy ass and do it herself, I will never know. Ever since my dad died, she had refused to do anything. She wouldn't cook, she wouldn't clean, hell she wouldn't even have a five minute conversation with me unless it was absolutely neccesary.

For the past three months I had had to deal with my father's death on my own. My mother refused to even acknowledge the fact that she was a widow and that he sixteen-year-old daughter needs her. Denial. She is in complete and utter denial. But, hey, everyone deals with things in there own way. My way was becoming my own caregiver. The more responsibility, the less I have to think.

I gently opened the basement door, causing a creaking noise to echo through the house. My fingers searched the wall to my right until finally they touched the light switch. I flipped it and bright light flooded the once dark set of stairs.

My steps sent up tiny clouds of dust, The last time I was down here was about two and a half months ago, to put all of the boxes up. At the bottom, I was submered in a box wasteland. There seemed to be hundreds. I went to the stacks closest to me, opening up the top of one to see what was inside.

When my eyes landed on the items, my breath hitched in my throat. I collapsed onto the ground pretzel style, bringing the box with me. I placed it gently in my lap and blindly stuck my hand in. I pulled out a bundle of pictures, held together with a paper clip.

The first picture was of my dad and mom on their wedding day. They looked so happy, so alive. My mom's cerulean blue eyes shone in the crisp light of August. Her white dress stood out against the clear blue sky behind her. And my dad. My dad was wearing his usual cheeky grin, staring up at my mother with loving eyes.

A tear slipped down my face as I turned to the next picture. This one was of me as a child. I was in my father's arms, all bundled up in a yellow silk blanket. My toothless mouth was set in a wide smile as my dad cradled me gently against his chest as if he would never let me go. I flipped the picture again.

After I had looked at all of the pictures, I placed the bundle back into the box and brought another item up. This time I found myself holding a plastic gold and blue trophy with two medals hanging on it. The item dropped out of my hand and into my lap as my vision blurred and I remembered.

The day was warm and sticky, as was expected of July. My mother was standing on the sidelines, looking at us with determination and belief clear in her eyes. I turned to my father, who was trying to act serious, but couldn't help the smile that kept creeping onto his face.

"We're gonna win this kiddo, for your mom,"he said, picking me up and putting me on his back.

It was the final competition in the annual Father-Daughter Field Day. We participated every year, but this time we were in it to win it. We had won enough of the other games to make it to the top two, meaning that we had to participate in the piggy back race for the win.

The whistle blew and my father booked it, making sure to hold onto my legs tightly so that I wouldn't fall. I laughed as he ran up the hill, bypassing the other girl and her father. I tightened my arms around his neck as he ran through the giant red ribbon, winning the race by a long shot.

The crowds cheered and my mother ran over to us, taking us into a group hug. She told us how proud she was and how good we did. My dad and I were given the trophy and a medal a peice. My dad carried me on his shoulders all the way to the car.

I came out of the memory to find myself sobbing, never ending tears streaming down my face. No matter how hard I tried, they wouldn't stop flowing. I turned to my side to see my mom walking down the steps, looking at me with understanding and sympathy. 

She made it to me and dropped down beside me, bringing me into her arms. My crying just grew louder as I felt tears of her own fall onto my shoulder, wetting my shirt. She brought her face away to look me in the eyes, tears still falling down both of our faces.

"It's gonna be alright. Everything is going to be alright,"she cooed.

And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel so alone anymore.